


What Dreams May Come

by Decorera



Series: The Wolf, The Flame, and the Lioness [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Dirty Talk, Dominance, F/M, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Service Submission, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decorera/pseuds/Decorera
Summary: This is a sequel to my story "Only In Cintra".  What you should know: Duny (Emhyr) and Pavetta had a fling with Geralt before marriage.  Also he taught Pavetta to be a pretty smokin' Dominatrix.  If you don't want to read the sexy bits, skip the sections between the dotted lines.





	What Dreams May Come

Nazair 1257 

Under the shadow of a spreading oak, a tall man patted his horse’s quivering flank. The young horse snorted in the cool morning air but settled under his quiet hands. A salty breeze blew silver hair forward into the man’s face as he tightened his saddle girth with a grunt of effort. The man pushed his long hair back and turned away to kick dirt over the last glowing embers of his campfire. Then he swung up and encouraged the mare into a smooth ground eating trot.

“That’s it, Roach.”

The glowing light of dawn lit up the wolf head’s embossed on the back of man’s armor as he turned the mare’s head toward the coast. The mare’s silver shod hooves pounded steadily into the soft dirt. As for the man, he settled into the smooth motions of someone who has already ridden a long way with more miles to go. His eyes drifted half closed against the salty breezes flowing in from the distant coast but his head tilted and twisted like his mare’s ears at every new sound.

At midmorning, he stopped to water his mare. As the mare drank thirstily from a gently flowing stream, the man tugged out a packet of letters tied together with a length of black and blue ribbons twisted together. The man pulled out the letter least creased and smudged from age and read its contents once more.

My beloved Geralt,

I beg you, my friend. Drop whatever job you are attempting and fly yourself to the coast of Nazair. I have spoken to you of our family trip to the Skellige isles. Before I suspected nothing of my beloved husband. But now my dreams are so dark.

I am aboard a ship sailing west. I can see the Isles in the distant horizon. Then we turn south and the sky grows dark. Rain splatters my face or is it tears? I look back to the land and, although the distance must be immense, I see you standing on a Nazair shoreline. You are terrified, for what reason I do not know.

Please Geralt. I have dreamed this same dream nightly since we set off to meet the ship. If all goes well and we make landfall at Skellege, I shall send you a message to the Cape of Peixe se Mar. If there is no message, please, come and find us. I fear the worst.

Your darling Queen,  
Pavetta, Crown Princess of Cintra

Geralt sighed heavily and carefully tucked the letter into the packet. Roach lifted her head suddenly and Geralt dropped the letters to the grassy turf to draw sword. Roach screamed a warning cry as an arachas scuttled out of the underbrush; it’s huge glassy eyes fixed on the mare. Geralt ran between the mare and the incoming insectoid and let loose with a furious Aard. The magic made the creature stumble and Geralt darted in, his silver sword leading the way.

The beast was lightning fast. It rolled to its feet; huge armored limbs flailing wildly. Geralt’s sword crashed into the tough armored carapace with a cry. The arachas hissed and spat until Geralt disengaged and rolled left. His silver sword bit into the soft flanks of the creature and steaming iccor splattered the ground. Geralt had no time to enjoy the blow. He was already rolling away from earth shaking bows.

Roach’s terrified screams rent the air as Geralt dodged heavy blows and vicious rushes to slash away at the beast vulnerable sides and back. Finally the insect shuttered into death and Geralt was able to spare a moment to calm his steed. Geralt shook out his tired arms before carefully kneeling at the stream to wash his armor and sword clean of viscous iccor. That was when the man approached. 

“Gods’ blood! That’s a big beast! You alright there?”

Geralt lifted his head to eye the man; a thin stick-like man with an alarming shock of black hair that stuck up messily in all directions. He wore no weapons but instead long dark fingers fiddled with a smooth white stone pendant. Geralt grunted in his general direction and bent down to carefully collect his letters. The man smiled.

“Well, easy enough to see you are all in one piece. Say, you must be a witcher then, eh? Where you be a heading?”

Geralt ignored the man and swung back onto Roach’s back. The other man hurried to mount his own horse and follow after. 

“To the coast, eh? Well, hope you don’t mind me riding along. I was stuck for a whole hour waiting for that big bug to go away until you rode in and slaughtered it. That was a sight to see!” The man shut up as Geralt turned around suddenly to glare at him.

“I don’t mind you riding along as long as you do so quietly.” 

The man flinched back from Geralt’s gruff tones or maybe his scarred face, but he nodded readily enough. Geralt jerked his head in a rough nod and slid back into his comfortable riding posture. The squeaks of saddle leather and the soft shushshush of the man’s pendant sliding across his rough shirt made it easy enough to keep track of the man. No need to keep him in eyes sight.

It certainly wasn’t odd for travelers to try and latch onto him; knowing that riding with an experienced warrior would deter many human and inhuman predators. They usually fell behind pretty quickly. It was hard to keep up with Geralt’s brutal travelling pace. The man would be gone soon enough. As it was, Geralt was troubled enough without having to worry about some stranger’s dilemmas.

It had been years since he had seen Pavetta and Duny, not since they had met up in Brugge a year or so after the baby’s birth. However the two of them had been faithful letter writers and, as such, Geralt had been privy to the deep love between them and the gradual crumbling of the couple’s trust in each other. As the years passed, each of them would ask for the advice of Geralt in their own ways. They had had their ups and downs, but this last letter was alarming. Enough so that Geralt had dropped a rich contract to protect a caravan into southern Cintra and had made for the coast immediately.

What was Duny thinking? His letters had broadcast to Geralt a sort of quiet desperation deep in his heart which had only grown as the years when on. Geralt had no clue what was bothering Duny so and neither had Pavetta, but that desperation was driving Duny further and further inside himself and away from his mistress and Geralt, his sometime lover. Geralt and Pavetta had discussed Duny almost exclusively in their letters; making every effort to understand Duny or to help him open up to them. To no avail apparently, if Pavetta’s intuition was correct. 

Whatever was coming was going to be bad.

A heavy sigh from behind the witcher made him flinch. Geralt gritted his teeth as the stranger began idly commenting on the passing scenery. Geralt had no intention of encouraging him. The witcher settled in to try and ignore him. This would be a long day.

By the following afternoon, Geralt was at his wit’s end. The stranger had stuck with him through everything Geralt could devise to shake him. Geralt had taken them off trail, through a bit of swamp, camped only for a few hours and then gotten up early for a brutal slog down a poorly maintained coastal road. It had all been for nothing as the stranger stuck with him through it all. Geralt couldn’t have made the trip any more agonizing without seriously endangering the horses and Geralt was not willing to lame his mount simply to be separated for the annoying man’s presence.

Geralt pulled up to a sudden halt and turned to the man in time to catch sight of the stranger expertly reining in his mount and smoothly sitting through the short stop. Geralt’s eyes narrowed. The man stared back, innocently blinking his eyes, and opening his mouth for some inane commentary.

The witcher dismounted and led Roach over to a nearby tree; throwing her reins over her neck so she could crop at the grass if she so wished. The stranger followed suit, smiling amiably. Geralt was not fooled any more however. Geralt leaned against a tree and gave the man his best serious look.

“What is your business with me?”

The man smiled innocently but Geralt cut in before he had a chance to protest his innocence.

“You dress like a commoner, but no commoner would travel without more than an eating knife to protect themselves. Hell, no warrior would either. That says to me: sorcerer. You ride like a cavalry officer and, if you are a simple peasant, then you stole your horse because that high crest, broad fetlock, and endurance are traits of pure bred Nilfgaardian stock. Your Nazairan accent isn’t bad but you haven’t managed to train yourself out of the way you swallow your G. Also my medallion hasn’t stopped reacting since you showed up, so I’ll bet you are wearing an illusion or some kind of glamour.”

The jovial expression on the stranger’s face fell a little with every fact Geralt stated until the man would an absolutely bland and calm expression. Geralt snorted.

“So what is a Nilfgaardian sorcerer, probably military, doing following me around the coastlands of Nazair?”

The man’s hand began to creep upwards toward his pendant and Geralt drew his sword with a quiet screech of metal. “Don’t try it.” He warned.

The man’s hand fell slightly and the sorcerer nodded a little, “My complements, Master Witcher. Few have ever discovered my deceptions.” He paused, obviously expecting some reply but when Geralt did not oblige him, the man continued. “I am indeed a citizen of Nilfgaard. You may call me Tchevarin.” He shifted his weight and took a step back. Geralt stepped forward with him; unwilling to let the sorcerer gain any distance in case they fell to a fight.

Tchevarin grimaced and held his other hand out in a conciliatory gesture. “Please Witcher, I mean you no harm. I have been sent to shadow you, but I am here to protect you. I swear it.”

Geralt lifted his eyebrows. “Really?” he drawled, his tone disbelieving. “Protect me from what and sent by whom?”

Tchevarin smiled winningly, “I truly would prefer not to say.” He held up a hand as Geralt took a menacing step closer, “but! But, I will tell you that I have been sent by Master Braathens of Nilfgaard.” 

Geralt slid his sword point slightly to the side, “I have no idea who that is.”

Tchevarin’s smile turned a little brittle, “Why, Braathens is the foremost sorcerer in the service of the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself! He is a very, very important person.”

“So says you,” Geralt retorted, “But that name still gives me no reason to continue to allow you to accompany me, especially for so nebulous a reason as ‘protecting me’.” He feinted and Tchevarin fell back while messily calling up a ward. Geralt just grinned and slapped the flank of the sorcerer’s horse. The horse darted forward in a run. Tchevarin’s face fell as Geralt calmly swung back up on Roach and left the man behind to run after his fleeing horse.

“I don’t have time for him,” Geralt muttered to himself as Roach loped out of the underbrush and onto the main road. The road carried him out of the forest and, amidst the cries of a flock of startled seagulls, onto the cliffs above the shore. The Great Sea stretched out north to south as far as his sharp eyes could see. Roach cantered along the well-tended and well-travelled road while seagulls paced them, flying along the cliffs and diving into the foamy surf.

The sight of the sea made Geralt’s gut clench. He scanned the horizon warily, looking for any sign of sail. He saw no ships but that did not ease his anxiety. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Roach’s mouth dripped with grassy foam by the time Geralt reigned her in to a walk. A small village was up ahead. They could stop there to rest and resupply. Geralt checked the noticeboard as he passed by, mostly out of habit, but still picked up a well-worn notice about missing fishermen. He ignored the whispers and hisses when he walked by and made his way to the small house which had a straw brush tied above the door. That was the local sign of a house which had extra food and a spot of floor available for travelers in towns too small for a true inn.

The miserly looking woman who opened the door pursed her lips at the sight of him but let him inside when he filled her palm with coppers. A small boy darted out to take Roach’s reins and Geralt flipped him a copper as well, with an admonition to treat his mare well. Geralt sat on the stone hearth, for lack of any other furniture, and gave his gear a good cleaning until the woman brought him a full bowl of pea porridge from a pot which sat warming on the coals and a warm beer drawn from a small stein.

The boy came back in and reported that he had rubbed Roach down, watered and fed her, before turning her loose in the small paddock out back. Geralt gave him another coin while the woman’s back was turned and the boy darted towards a grubby blanket in a corner to secret away his gains. Geralt ate his porridge to the rhythmic thumps of the woman kneading bread.

“Woman,” he asked respectfully, “Can you tell me anything about this old notice about missing fishermen?” She came over to squint at the paper and then gave a short nod before going back to her baking.

“Oh aye, that’s an old notice. Headman’s son, Lyre, and a few of his friends said they were going to go try diving for shipwrecks out near the Sedna Abyss. Everyone told them not to go, that they were being young fools. Everyone knows that the place is just plain unnatural. Ships have started going missing out there. Some say that storms will start up out of clear blue skies if a boat sails in and then that’s then end of them.”

“But no one could convince those young fools not to go. So they sail out and sure enough, they never come back. Headman put the notice up and a few travelers tried to go out and find them. But after none of them came back, folk stopped trying. Headman keeps the notice up just in case, but fat luck his son is still alive out there.”

Geralt nodded but asked her where the Sedna Abyss was. She glared at him and muttered about old fools, but she eventually showed him on his map. It lay south west of the village and almost straight west of Cape of Peixe se Mar. If Pavetta, Duny, and the little one were safe and sound after all this, at least Geralt might be able to get a little profit out of this excursion.

He lay down of the swept dirt floor and lay his swords down beside him. Geralt had barely closed his eyes before he fell into a restless sleep and dreams of long ago.

\-----------------------

Brugge 1254

“Will you still love me in another country?”  
“Will you still love me by another name?”  
“Will you still love me if all the world cursed my name?”

Geralt raised his head from soft silk sheets to tangle his hand into Pavetta’s blonde silver hair and pull her into a kiss. “Duny,” he warned gravely, “You are not doing a good enough job if your Mistress can still recite poetry so eloquently while you are licking her cunt.”

Duny looked up, licked his lips, and the leaned back down. Pavetta yelped and dropped the book of poetry. Geralt laughed at her as his fingers dipped and swirled along the underside of her breast. “That’s better, Duny. You don’t deserve be given the buggering you want so badly.” Geralt caught Duny watching him as Geralt smiled cruelly, “You need to earn it.” 

Duny’s eyes blazed and he redoubled his efforts. Pavetta began crying out, short hard breaths, while her toes curled. “Enough,” She cried and pushed Duny’s head from between her thighs. “Wolf,” she said admonishingly, completely ignoring Duny panting at her feet, “You are a menace.”

Geralt smiled and kissed her before sliding his fingers into her cunt. “Your Duny seems a little poorly trained, my Queen. Look at him rubbing off on the carpet like a horny dog. Can’t he control himself?”

Pavetta looked and then causally slapped Duny. The man moaned and froze. One hand drifted up to touch his face while he smiled wickedly at Pavetta. “My Queen?” he asked worshipfully.

She sniffed disdainfully, “You slattern, I gave you no permission to pleasure yourself. Suck on Geralt’s cock before I decide to not allow you not come tonight at all. Geralt has such a fine cock after all. Now that he is with us, he should just take over all of your husbandly duties.”

Duny’s eyes burned at the challenge and he darted between Geralt’s muscled thighs to lap and tease at his cock head. Geralt pulled his hair just so until Duny gasped in pleasure. “Your Queen told you to suck, Lad. Get to your work like a good Lad or I’ll not fuck you at all. Just leave you to clean up my seed from your Queen’s cunt.”

Duny pulled back and said clearly, “Dusk.”

Geralt stopped pulling and Pavetta froze. “Yes, my love,” she asked. “What is it?”

Duny blushed a little and asked quietly, “I don’t want a Name from you, Geralt. I don’t want to play a part.” He firmed his mouth, looked up and said, “I want to be your Duny tonight.”

Geralt blinked and checked Pavetta’s face. Her expression was calm and loving. She nodded. Geralt swallowed. “Well, if it is what you both want, I can’t say it isn’t appealing.” He took a carefully grab of Duny’s hair and pulled again. Duny gasped and bared his long neck. “My Duny. My desperate needy Duny, hmm”

Duny panted and his cock, already hard began leaking. 

“Very well. Get to it Duny. Suck my cock.” 

Duny shuddered and let Geralt pull him onto his cock. Duny sucked and swallowed down the witcher’s cock while his wife looked on with hungry eyes.

“He is such a little slut, our Duny, isn’t he Wolf? Look at how desperate he is getting just from sucking a little cock!”

Geralt smacked her playfully on her bottom, “Don’t call my cock little, missy.”

Duny lifted his head to rasp out, “As the one currently with the aforementioned cock in my throat, I can assure the company that it is by no means little.”

Pavetta giggled and Geralt grinned, “What a good boy,” he praised and lifted Duny off his knees and onto his lap, “Give me a kiss then, my Duny.” Duny did and moaned into Geralt’s mouth as the witcher rewarded him by plunging his fingers into Duny’s stretched and oily hole.

“Your cum is dripping out when you do that, Wolf. Such a messy boy of ours. You’d best plough back into him and fill him again lest he start to feel all empty inside.”

Duny shuddered at Pavetta’s filthy words and crawled off of Geralt’s lap to kiss his wife. She spread her legs and welcomed his cock inside her. Her legs wrapped around his thighs and, with a quick jerk, pulled his knees up; presenting him perfectly to their witcher lover.

Geralt smiled like his namesake and plunged his cock deep into Duny’s bowels. The man jerked back and howled at the pleasure pain and began to spasm helplessly between Geralt’s cock in his ass and his cock deep in his wife’s pussy. Geralt pulled him up against his chest and began to control their thrusts.

“Hush my messy boy, my Duny. We need to see to your wife’s pleasure, don’t we? But you just go on and cum whenever you like, My Duny. I’ll take care of our beloved Queen if you can’t manage to hold on.”

Geralt chuckled as Duny reached one feeble hand down to begin stroking Pavetta’s clit. There was nothing like a challenge or an insult to motivate Duny. No matter how tired, he could always be goaded to rising to the occasion.

Pavetta began grunting in pleasure long before Duny released into her sodden pussy. Geralt gently pulled himself from Duny’s swollen passage. As the husband and wife lay exhaustedly intertwined, Geralt gently cleaned and applied a cool lotion to all their ‘enflamed’ organs. He went quietly into the nearby washroom to leave the wet things aside before returning to find Pavatta and Duny up and awaiting him.

Pavetta placed a hand on Duny’s shoulder and stated calmly, “My Duny has expressed a wish to dominate you, Geralt.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows and looked down at the kneeling man. Duny looked back up at him calmly. Geralt looked back at Pavetta, but she gave him no clues with her expression. Geralt reached down to take Duny’s hand and pulled the man up to sit next to him on the bed. “Tell me what you need, Duny.”

Duny smiled fondly and reached out a hand to trace Geralt’s smooth face. “I have everything I need here in this room.” He said simply. “This suggestion is more about what I think you need.”

“Me?” Geralt asked and Duny hummed in agreement. “Yes, will you let me try?”

Geralt frowned and considered it. “I don’t bend well.” He admitted. “I have a hard time relaxing and I have never enjoyed it.”

Duny shook his head. “It’s not about penetration, and really I don’t think you need the same things as I do.”

Geralt sighed, “Then why?”

Duny kissed him. “Please, just let me try?”

Geralt fell into those sweet grey eyes and found himself nodding before he realized it. “Alright,” he added gruffly.

Duny petted his face. “Sweet Wolf,” He Named Geralt immediately and Geralt found himself relaxing into the role. “Sweet Wolf, kneel for me.”

Geralt slid off the bed and onto the floor easily. Sweet Wolf was a good name. It didn’t make him feel vulnerable, not quite, a wolf could always bite after all. But he could be sweet, if that was what Duny wanted. Duny picked up a wooden hairbrush and Geralt began calming his mind for a beating.

He blinked a little in shock as Duny carefully lifted a section of his long hair and began to brush. Geralt knelt uneasily as Duny slowly and soothingly brushed out his long silver hair. Duny rubbed distractedly at the back of Geralt’s neck and Geralt felt his head dip smoothly until his forehead rested against Duny’s thigh. The brush moved slowly through his thick hair and Geralt’s skin began to prickle with pleasure. His breathing slowed until he was almost meditating at Duny’s feet; nothing on his mind but the smooth long strokes of the brush.

A soft click made him blink. Duny had laid down the hairbrush. “Stand up, Sweet Wolf.” Geralt rose smoothly to his feet and Duny’s warm smile of approval made him smile back tentatively. “Take off your clothes.”

Duny’s voice was smooth and deep. It felt almost like being under a spell as Duny guided Geralt through disrobing Duny and following the young man, at his order, into the adjoining bathing room. “My good precious Wolf,” Duny praised and Geralt found himself growing hard simply from Duny’s approval. They both got into the bath. Duny picked up a soft sea sponge to gently washed Geralt face and then tied up his hair.

He handed the sponge to Geralt, “Wash me.” He ordered gently and lay back against Geralt’s strong chest. A warm contented feeling grew in Geralt’s chest as he followed Duny’s orders: carefully and meticulously washing the body he felt so strongly for satisfied a deep part of himself Geralt had never understood. Duny stood from the tub and Geralt hurried to dry him, kneeling easily at his feet to gently pat and dry the soft skin.

Duny carded his hands through Geralt’s long hair, fluffing it and playing gently with it while Geralt knelt silent but secure. Duny ordered him onto the bed. Geralt placed a foot on the floor to stand but Duny pressed him gently down. “Wolves don’t walk on two paws,” He reprimanded gently and Geralt hung his head in obedience. 

It seemed to take forever to crawl along the floor to the bed. Geralt had asked the same of many lovers but it felt so different now. Geralt would have walked ahead and stood waiting while his lover reveled in the degradation of being forced to be slow and desperate. Instead Duny walked easily beside Geralt and kept his fingers tangled in Geralt’s hair as they walked. It felt so different, like Geralt was a treasured and valued pet instead of a desperate slut. He glanced up at Duny and something in his eyes made Duny stop and kneel beside him.

“You would never enjoy being torn down, Sweet Wolf. No, too much of that in your life already. You have to be so strong and hard to protect yourself and others. What you need is a chance to be sweet. You have so much kindness locked away in here.” Duny pressed his hand to Geralt’s chest. “I want all of your kindness, all of your sweetness.” Duny lifted Geralt’s head and bent his down to press kiss after kiss onto his lips. “I want your heart and I will never mock you for it.”

Geralt shuddered in need and pressed into Duny. Duny embraced him, but glanced back at Pavetta. Something passed between the two of them and Pavetta rose, slipped on her robe and left the room. “Sweet Wolf,” Duny soothed and Geralt curled up right there on the floor in Duny’s lap. 

Duny’s murmured words of praise and gentle touches reached deep down inside him to a place Geralt thought he had long left behind. The place where a mother’s touches should have been kept warm and safe in his heart but lay empty instead. Only an absent touch or hand shake from Vesemir and a single sincere kiss from Yennifer lay there, jealously hoarded away. 

Geralt lifted his head to kiss Duny; sighing as Duny gently tugged and turned Geralt head to suit his fancy and Geralt quietly allowed it. Duny pulled back enough to whisper, “Pick me up” before diving back into Geralt’s lips. Geralt gathered the tall man into his arms and easily carried Duny to the bed. “My strong Wolf,” Duny murmured appreciatively as he slipped from Geralt’s arms.

“Lay back on the bed. I wish to see you pleasure yourself.” Geralt groaned and did as he was bid. He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked while Duny knelt between his legs and just praised him. Geralt was as hard as a rock by the time Pavetta returned carrying a box which she set aside and a warm dish of oil which she kept as she climbed onto the bed behind Duny. The couple kissed and Geralt whimpered as he watched Pavetta dip her finger into the oil.

Duny moaned as he leant over Geralt. His young strong body, still gaunt and skinny from years of surviving in the wild, writhed while Geralt gulped and hastened his touch on his cock. Duny leaned back and rode his wife’s hand, his cock dripping onto Geralt hard thigh. “Please Duny,” Geralt begged. “I’m going to come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Duny replied with a sharp look before his wife pulled his face around and kissed his passionately. Geralt swore and tugged sharply at his balls as Duny began to come from just his wife’s fingers. Duny panted as she let his mouth loose and turned back to Geralt with a satisfied smile. “Don’t come,” he ordered as he mounted Geralt’s cock and drew it slowly into his body.

Geralt groaned continuously as Duny slowly, torturously slowly, began to ease up and down Geralt’s hard cock. Pavetta leaned over Duny’s shoulder to look at them both. “How does it feel, Wolf, inside my husband?”

Geralt jerked his hips a little and Duny snapped out, “Hold still!”

Geralt panted open mouthed, “He feels so tight. It’s paradise.”

Pavetta’s smile curled up like a spring fern, “You are the only man he allows inside him, you know. There is no one else for him but you.” Geralt fought to keep his hips still while a wave of satisfaction and possessiveness rose up in him.

Duny snorted, “Why would I look elsewhere? Geralt is strong, brave, charming, and wise.” Duny dropped his eyes to Geralt’s and his smile was devastating. “My strong right arm, my sword, and my shield.”

Geralt sobbed out, “Duny duny duny,” as he fought not to come. Pavetta moved around to stifle his cries with her sweet cunt. Geralt attacked his Queen’s pussy with fervor and Pavette almost fell in surprise. Duny caught her and the two of the writhed together on top of Geralt. Geralt felt overwhelmed. The heat of Duny’s as, the overwhelming spicy scent of Pavetta in his nose and mouth, and the weight of the bodies pressing him into the bed: it was too much. Almost…

Pavetta cried out in ecstasy and pulled back from his mouth, cupping her fingers delicately over her pearl. Duny suckled a mark onto her smooth neck and she moaned when Geralt slipped fingers under hers and into her soft folds.

“Irresistible, isn’t she, my lovely Queen.” Duny commented to Geralt as he squeezed Geralt’s cock inside him, earning a loud moan. “My beautiful wife, so clever and bright, my equal, my empress…”

Geralt chuckled a bit as he struggled to keep his mind off of coming. “Getting a little ahead of yourself aren’t you?”

Duny blinked and then laughed. Geralt moaned as the jerking of Duny’s muscles almost pushed him over the edge. 

“Perhaps,” Duny said, “But somedays, I feel that with the two of you by my side, I could conquer the world.” He began to ride Geralt’s cock masterfully. Geralt begged so sweetly to come. At last, Duny allowed it and Geralt saw stars at the force of his orgasm.

The three of them huddled together, curled into a safe warm ball, but eventually necessities demanded Duny remove himself from the bed. He took a step away and his legs gave out under him. Geralt chuckled at his wide eyed shock and pulled himself from the bed. He tucked the sleepy Pavetta under the covers and simply carried Duny once more to the bathing chamber.

“This is beginning to be a habit.” 

Duny snorted sardonically. “Tell me you do not enjoy it and I’ll never ask you to carry me again.”

Geralt eyed the long youthful legs draped over his arm and the graceful hand carting through his hair. “Oh no,” he drawled, “I hate it. Really.”

Duny snorted. They stepped back into the bath. This time they washed each other and, although the sexual heat had lessened, Geralt acknowledged that Duny had been right. Geralt did enjoy this; taking care of Duny. Really if he looked back, pleasing and taking care of his partners was something he’d always enjoyed. However his lovers before Duny had little tolerance for “coddling” as Yennifer called it. They dried and slipped on soft robes before returning to the bedroom.

Pavetta snored quietly, almost cutely on the bed, and Duny gestured out at the open balcony. Geralt nodded and snagged a bottle of wine. Duny rolled his eyes and collected two goblets. After a moment of hesitation, he also collected the box Pavetta had brought to the room. They sat side by side on a bench overlooking the gardens. Scents of lilac and honeysuckle drifted up on the night breeze.

They drank quietly until Geralt’s curiosity overcame him. He nudged the box with his toe. 

Duny smiled and said, “It’s a present I commissioned for you.”

Geralt tilted his head. “Commissioned?”

Duny pursed his lips before answering, “It is something special.”

Geralt eyed him but Duny did not explain. So Geralt lifted the box, heavier than he expected, and opened it. Inside was a piece of armor. It was beautiful and clearly crafted by a master. Thick hardened leather, strong enough to block a sword strike but delicately tooled and ornamented with an intricate but tiny forest scene. Geralt looked closer and saw wolves and lions chasing each other through the trees and bushes. The inside of the leather was lined with silk but padded with soft lambswool. Geralt lifted it from the box and held it in his hands.

“It’s a gorget.” He said simply. Duny’s eyes glittered in the darkness, but he said nothing. Geralt’s wolf necklace trembled slightly. “Is it enchanted?” he asked and Duny nodded.

Geralt looked it over closely and then lifted it to his neck. Duny’s eyes burned as Geralt strapped the gorget around his neck. The buckles had been cunningly designed so he could remove it or put it on with ease, even when weighted down by full armor. Duny reached into the box and withdrew a mirror from the bottom and held it out so that Geralt could see.

“It’s beautiful.” Geralt said quietly as he checked his ease of movement. “It feels good too. What does the enchantment do?”

Duny faced him, then reached out to lay his hand on the side of Geralt’s neck. The whole gorget lit up with pale blue light. “The gorget itself will stop any knife or sword that might cut your throat, but the enchantment will turn any enchanted weapon aside.”

Geralt’s stomach tightened, “This is a kingly gift.”

Duny shook his head, “The enchantment is an incomplete one; It need to be replenished almost every two months.” He paused. “I had them key the spell to my energy; a way for me to protect you.” The two were silent for a moment and only the crickets in the garden broke the stillness of the moment.

Duny’s hand still lay on the gorget and Geralt raised his to cover. “Duny, what you’re asking… It not what we have done before. It’s permanence. This gorget isn’t just a piece of armor, not just any gift. It’s a collar.”

Duny flexed his hand under Geralt’s and the pale blue light of the magic ward flickered between his fingers. “Yes, yes of course it is. I want you, Geralt, to be mine. Of course, not mine exclusively,” his eyes drifted over to Pavetta’s sleeping form, “I know you have other lovers. But come back with us to Cintra. Live with us and raise our child with us. Go out onto the Path if you must, but when this spell fades… return to me.”

Geralt imagine it; living at the castle with his Queen and his lad. His Duny, His Pavetta, in their home. Geralt swallowed as he imagined finally meeting the child promised him. Perhaps teaching the boy to hunt, never to be a witcher, but sharing his skills with a child shared between them. Perhaps more children in the future.

Geralt wanted that. He ached for that dream.

“Duny,” Geralt murmured and Duny heard something in his tone that made the prince draw back his hand. The light of the gorget faded without his touch to a dimly gleaming set of runes, easily hidden for a witcher who needed stealth. The spell was undiminished; Geralt could feel it humming beside his artery.

“You will not accept.” Duny spat out coldly. Geralt tried to pull him close but the man stepped away.

“I want to, Duny, I do. But I am a witcher. My place is on the path.”

Duny whirled around to glare at him. “There is plenty of work for you by my side!”

“I know,” Geralt hissed back, “just…”

Duny stilled, staring at Geralt as if the witcher was all he could ever want in the world. Geralt didn’t understand how to explain but he tried. “I need time, Duny. I’m not ready. Not now, it’s too appealing.”

Duny shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

Geralt winced, “I know. I just…I need more time.”

Duny looked away, “We only have now, Geralt. There is no future. What if, by the time you are ready, I am gone?”

Geralt grabbed his hand, “Never. I will come and find you. Just give me time.”

Duny sighed and clasped Geralt’s hand in his. “Give me your promise then.” Duny’s pale eyes locked with Geralt’s wild gold eyes. “Wear my collar and promise me.”

Geralt pulled him into his arms, “I promise, Duny. No matter where you go, I will follow and I’ll find you.”

Duny threaded his hand through Geralt’s hair, “You are mine.” He stated but his tone questioned.

Geralt nodded, and felt the gentle pull of Duny’s hand through his hair, “I am yours and you are mine.” Geralt took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Geralt’s arms were suddenly empty. Geralt looked around in shock. No, that wasn’t what happened. Duny kissed me. I took him to bed. We parted in the morning. “Duny?” Geralt called, looking for his lad. 

Geralt turned and found Duny standing on a ship deck. Sailors brushed past the two of them like ghosts. Duny raised tormented eyes to Geralt’s and asked, “Will you still love me in another country?” The ship’s mast cracked and fell between them. Geralt flinched back but Duny just asked, “Will you still love me by another name?” A storm, a terrible storm ravaged the decks, throwing sailors off the sides of the ship. Only Duny stood calm in the middle of the storm. “Will you still love me if all the world cursed my name?”

Geralt screamed out, “Duny!” as the whole ship tipped downward into a terrible whirlpool. The ship disappeared into an abyss and Geralt stood on the coast line watching and screaming into the wind.

\-----------------------------

Geralt jerked awake and slapped a hand out. The boy cried out and fled back from where he had been quietly picking at the knot of Geralt’s saddlebags. He crouched over his blankets holding his reddened hand and watching with the wide eyes of a wild creature. Geralt sighed heavily and pulled himself to his feet. Under the boy’s fearful gaze, Geralt gathered his gear and when out to Roach. A few minutes later and Geralt was back on the road. The lines on his face grew deeper as he contemplated the meaning of his dream. Was it a warning or just a flight of fancy? Had Pavetta dreamed last night as well? What did it all mean?

The ill foreboding feeling followed him like a black dog all the way to Cape of Peixe se Mar. The black dog howled angrily when Geralt found no messages waiting for him. Geralt strode out to the harbor and inquired with the harbor master for any sign of any ship from Cintra. The harbormaster directed him to a merchant’s vessel whose captain was able to confirm for his that the royal ship did sail from Cintra on schedule and that yes, they should have made landfall in Skellege by now. Certainly long enough to send a message by megascope. Geralt felt the black dog’s teeth clamping down on his throat as he stared out across the ocean.

Where were they? What was going on? Why these dreams? Questions with no answers rattled around in his skull and that black dog feeling would not be left behind no matter how far he walked. Geralt found himself out on the beach where the fisherman mended their nets, pacing back and forth like a caged wyvern. The fishermen eyed him but didn’t dare say a word to him. Geralt cursed and walked away for the city down the beach.

He found some lonely rocks and perched on them, eyes on the horizon. ‘What could he do now?’ He asked himself. ‘Come find us.’ Pavetta had implored, but where to begin? All Geralt knew was they were out on the open ocean on a big ship. They had not made landfall or they had and Pavetta had been prevented from sending Geralt a message. Either way, Geralt had no way to track them. Would it be best then to wait here in the hopes that Pavetta would eventually be able to send a message or should he set sail immediately for Skellege?

“Found you!” 

Geralt turned faster than a viper striking but it was not fast enough. The spell hit him straight on. His arms fell limply to his sides and his legs trembled and collapsed underneath him. Geralt knelt on the sand helpless and only just managed to lift his head enough to see Tchevarin on top of the nearby cliff. The sorcerer held a mass of green glowing threads in one hand and was reading aloud something arcane from the spell book clutched in his other hand. 

Geralt felt himself weakening fast and time seemed to slip and slide unsteadily. One moment, Tchevarin had been atop a cliff. In the next, Tchevarin crouched at his side, the sun setting behind his back, carefully reading through Geralt’s letters. Geralt blinked and opened his eyes to Tchevarin tracing a rune into the side of Geralt’s grizzled face. “Should have killed you,” Geralt managed to slur out through numb lips.

“Yes, you should have.” Tchevarin answered him, “Frankly I am still a little surprised that you didn’t.” Tchevrin’s Nilfgaardian accent was sharp and clear as he spoke now. “You are softer than your reputation portrays you. I suppose that a hard reputation is only to your benefit.” Tchevarin finished his magic and Geralt began to cough as the tingling of a magic spell began to creep into his mouth.

“Now, Master Witcher, I would much have preferred to do this the polite way and simply spy on you, but since you have refused my presence, I need to get my information more directly. Please do answer my questions honestly. The spell will activate if you do not and I am afraid it is still somewhat experimental. My Master Braathens needs to do a bit more work on it, I’m afraid.”

Geralt tried to grit his teeth but he was only barely able to move his jaw. The sorcerer dipped his head in a satisfied nod. “Now, Master Witcher, some years ago you reportedly broke a curse on a young man who became the consort of the Crown Princess of Cintra. Please tell me if that is true or false.”

Geralt tried to clamp his jaws shut and say nothing at all, but the word squirmed and slid out of his mouth like an oily fish. “True.” His mouth filled with a disgusting taste as if the truth had truly been greased by some gross oil.

Tchevarin made a small note in his book. “This young man’s curse: He was cursed into an inhuman shape but was human some portion of the night. Again, is this statement true or false?”

Again Geralt tried to resist but the foul taste filled his mouth until he gagged involuntarily and the word, “Truth,” slipped out. Tchevarin made a note again while Geralt gagged and spat. 

“I really do advise you to not resist again, Master Witcher. Subjects have been known to die after resisting this spell three times. I truly have no desire to kill you. Indeed, my Master Braathens would be pleased to examine the man able to break his curse.”

Geralt managed to slur out, “Braathen’s … cursed… Duny?”

Tchevarin’s eyebrows raised and he chuckled lightly. “Duny,” He said, his tone amused. Geralt growled.

Tchevarin watched him carefully for a while before saying carefully, “The young man we have been discussing has been making contacts in Nilfgaard and exchanging information with a particularly dangerous group of nobility. I imagine you and the young man’s wife were unaware of this.”

Geralt waited for the slippery oily feeling, but clearly the spell could only compel him to answer direct questions. Geralt glared up into the sorcerer’s face and tried to make very clear his unwillingness to talk. Tchevarin sighed. “I really do wish to keep you alive, Witcher, if only for my Master’s benefit. Please do consider answering my next question.”

Tchevarin leaned closer. His eyes were hungry. “Your sexual and romantic connection to the young man has been noticed. Furthermore, you are a widely travelling and very dangerous agent who receives frequent letters from the young man we have been discussing.” Tchevarin leaned even closer until he was almost speaking into Geralt’s ear. “Has this young man asked you to assassinate the Emperor of Nilfgaard?”

The question so startled Geralt that he barked out a sudden “No!” before he thought to resist. Tchevarin sat back frowning and dropped his eyes to make a note in his book. It was his last mistake. Geralt, with one supreme effort of will, flung the small crab he had palmed while Tchevarin was focused on his face. The crab sailed into the sorcerer’s hand and clamped down on those long brown fingers which so elegantly clung to the magical threads keeping Geralt helpless.

Tchevarin yelped in pain and the spell dropped like the glowing threads which fluttered out of his hand. Tchevarin had a single moment to gasp in terror before Geralt was on him like a mastiff; crushing his throat between two gauntleted hands. The sorcerer struggled and tried to cast, but his mouth moved breathlessly until finally he shuddered under Geralt’s heavy frame and lay still. Geralt hung on for good measure like a wolf unwilling to release the kill.

Eventually Geralt let go and got to his feet, only to draw steel and separate the sorcerer’s head from his body. Geralt stood shaking and staring down at the sorcerer. The spell book caught his eye and the witcher slipped it into his pouch. As he leaned down to reach for it, Geralt nearly fell down as the monstrous taste in his mouth made itself known again. That spell had clearly not died with its caster.

Geralt gagged and spat again at the lingering taste of the spell in his mouth. Salt, he needed salt. Geralt staggered down to the shore and dropped to his knees in the surf to gulp at the seawater. He swirled the saltwater in his mouth and on his face over and over until the terrible taste and feeling of the spell was finally washed away. He dug into his pouch for a small vial and downed it. The honey tasting liquid washed through him like a cleansing wind.

Geralt threw his head back in relief. Seagulls wheeled above him in a purple sky and Geralt smiled. His eyes drifted down; landing by chance on the distant horizon and widened in surprise. The golden cat eyes blinked and focused until the far away smudge Geralt had just barely caught sight of resolved itself into a ship: a ship with blue sails. Geralt stared in shock at the ship until a chance bit of wind billowed the sails out in full. Geralt could just make out the three golden lions on the sail of blue.

“Sweet Melitele,” he swore reverently. There they were; the Cintran royal ship right there on the horizon. Geralt waded deeper into the surf, his eyes straining to keep sight of them. They were running south, definitely away from Skellege, but they were not turning to come into the Nazair coast. Geralt fumbled for his map. He had to try and figure out where they were bearing if he was ever to catch up with them. Geralt looked up at the stars just beginning to be bright enough to see and made quick calculations.

Geralt stared down at the map in shock as his finger ran forward along their course straight into the small coal circle marked on his map: The Sedna Abyss. He stared out to sea and then back at his map, making sure he was right. Then in a burst of flying sand, Geralt bounded away from the headless sorcerer back down the beach to the city.

Geralt flung gold at the first fisherman he found and then, quite frankly, stole the man’s boat. The man gasped and gathered up the golden coins before yelling after Geralt, but the witcher only had eyes for the horizon. He made his course straight for the Sedna Abyss and prayed he would make it in time. Pavetta’s warning, his own dreams of the ship sinking. It had to be for this. He had to get there in time.

He had only just sighted the ship when the storm began brewing. “No, no, no!” He swore as he fought to keep the tiny boat on course as the terrible maelstrom blew in out of nowhere to engulf the royal ship. Geralt cursed and screamed as the winds pushed him away. He saw sailors going overboard. He saw the masts snapping under the power of unnatural winds. He saw the ship tilt up, up, up until he thought for sure it would dive straight beneath the waves. Then there was a flash of lightening so close and so strong that Geralt was thrown from his boat.

Geralt gasped as he pushed his head above the water for only a moment before another wave washed over him and pushed him down. He fought his way back up and looked for the ship. It was gone. Geralt howled out in agony and began swimming to where he last saw it; desperate to save Duny and Pavetta. There was flotsam and jetsam everywhere. He barely escaped being knocked unconscious by a spar tossed by on an angry wave.

“Duny!” He yelled. Only the roaring of the sea answered him. “Pavetta!” 

His medallion hummed suddenly and, below him in the deep, he saw a brief flash of silver light. Geralt dove. He powered down, past drowned men, sinking crates, and scared fish. He kept swimming down and down until he could just make out a small figure in a white dress sinking below him. His breath pounded behind his eyes but he kept swimming down; desperate to reach her. She was sinking fast into a deep dark blackness, far darker than his eyes could see through. 

Geralt gasped out the last of his breath in a burst of bubbles as his hand clamped down on hers. He drew her close as the blackness closed in around them. The heavy folds of her white dress tangling around them both and dragging them down. Geralt pulled her lax head up and tucked her under his chin. His vision grew red with blood and he gasped in; unable to keep his mouth closed any longer.

He breathed in seawater.

Pavetta’s eyes flew open to meet his. 

Silver light enveloped them both.

Geralt coughed violently and seawater flew from his lips as their heads broke the surface. Geralt clutched at Pavetta’s limp form in shock as he coughed and gagged but also gasped in precious air. He could only just barely manage to keep both their heads above water with his armor and her dress pulling them down. The storm raged around them, trying to drag them back under. Geralt bared his teeth at the storm and fought back.

When asked later, Geralt could never tell anyone exactly how he managed to keep them alive all night through the storm. He remembered a floating piece of jetsam that he hauled Pavetta up on, he remembered cutting away her dress and his breastplate, he remembers swimming endlessly and dragging Pavetta through the water after him. Never the less, the sun was just beginning to rise over the cliffs when Geralt dragged Pavetta’s body from the waves onto the lonely deserted beach.

Geralt lay panting into the sand. He was completely exhausted, but he couldn’t let go yet. He needed to be sure. Geralt lifted his head. The effort was gargantuan. He crawled to Pavetta and lay his head down lightly on her chest. Then he listened until he heard it: the soft thump thump of her heart and the quiet swish-shoosh of her breath. Geralt lifted his head to look back out to sea.

There was nothing out there now; as if the storm had scoured the surface of the Great Sea clean. Only a clear green expanse stretched from horizon to horizon. There was no sign left of Duny and Pavetta’s ship. Geralt felt his eyes itch, but he had no water left to shed tears. Geralt lay down to rest in the sand beside Pavetta until, at last, his guilt tore tears loose from his eyes.

The cries of circling seagulls pulled Geralt from the darkness. He lifted his head and blinked against the grit and bright sun. His eyes contracted to pinpricks until he could see again. His first sight was of Pavetta, sitting up and alert, staring out to sea. Geralt lifted himself to his hands and knees. Pavetta jerked her head to face him.

They stared at each other. Geralt’s eyes traced over Pavetta’s face: her smooth skin marred now by deep scratches on her neck and face, her beautiful eyes wide and huge from shock, her blonde silver hair matted and bedraggled from the sea. He wondered what she saw when she looked at his face. Something terrible no doubt from how she stared.

Pavetta lunged toward him. Geralt had a moment of fear, but Pavetta flung her arms around him and clung to him. Geralt shuttered in a relieved breath and buried his face into her salt wet hair. They knelt together, pressed as close as they possibly could to one another and held each other as if they feared the sea would reach out to tear them apart once more. 

“I’m so sorry.” Geralt gritted out. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.” Geralt’s eyes burned. His Duny, his sweet lad, “Duny is gone.”

Pavetta’s nails dug into his skin and Geralt relished the pain. From the start, he was the protector. When they needed him, Geralt had always been there. But now when they had needed him most, he failed. Pavetta clutched at him, nails digging in possessively, until with a shuttering sigh she pushed him back. Her soft hands slid over his unshaven cheeks and lifted his face to his. Her eyes burned into him but her hands were calm and soft as they soothed away the tears Geralt hadn’t noticed shedding.

“Yes, Duny is gone.” Pavetta’s grip on his face grew firmer but still kind. Geralt felt a strange despairing joy. He could not save their lover, but his failure hadn’t lost him Pavetta’s affection. He leaned into her hands, desperate for whatever she would give him. Her voice was still sweet to his ears, even now rough from the sea. “Duny is gone, because we were betrayed.”

Geralt went still under her hands, like a hunting dog on point just waiting to be released. “Who,” he asked. The seagulls cried and Geralt felt the emptiness of that vast sea rushing in to fill the wound in his heart. “Who?” he asked again.

Pavetta leaned into him, her sweet voice whispering into his ear. “Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard.”

Geralt tasted the words, as if he could catch the man’s scent from his name. “Emhyr…”

Pavetta nodded and kissed him softly. Her lips tasted of salt and revenge.


End file.
